Sherlock's Boyfriend
by epephany
Summary: Sherlock's ex-boyfriend comes to Baker street...and John... John doesn't know how to handle it. With a gorgeous Aussie around, John feels plain and forgotten. Well he have the courage to admit his feelings to the man he loves? Or will he be too late?
1. Chapter 1

"What've we got?" Sherlock asked as he ducked under the plastic yellow police tape, holding it briefly for John.

"Four dead, all with the same stab wounds in the same parts of the body. No witnesses, no insurance on any of them so no chance of that being a motive." Lestrade briefed them, his voice as weary as his eyes, he'd been up all night Sherlock thought mildly. Almost made him feel bad for already having solved the case. Almost. Holmes quickly strode over to the victims, leaving Watson's considerably shorter legs to follow him. He stooped low, lifting the cheap blue tarp from the body. All the wounds were messy, not calculated, it confirmed his earlier theory of it being the work off an amateur. All of the men had rough, calloused hands with a few rings on each hands. Gamblers. Yep, he had been right.

"I know who did it." The consulting detective announced proudly. John started at him.

"You've barley even glanced at the bodies, how could you possibly know who did it?" He asked incredulously. Sherlock smirked at him.

"Do you know me at all?" He asked sarcastically, causing a slight smile to slip onto the doctor's face.

"Lestrade! Come here." Sherlock called, gesturing to the man.

"God, what a night!" John exclaimed with a smile, the wind tearing at the jacket. Sherlock glanced over at him as he knotted his scarf again.

"I thought Anderson was gonna shit a brick when you started in on her." Sherlock chuckled.

"She started it." He protested, knowing he sounded like a child buy not caring.

"But seriously, did you have to mention her pregnancy scare?"

"She deserved it...stupid cow." John sputtered out a laugh. When Sherlock insulted people, it was either extremely funny or downright frightening.

"I guess she did though, she was being a bit unfair." Holmes gaped at him.

"A bit?! A bit unfair she-" John began laughing and playfully bumped the detective with his shoulder.

"I was kidding mate." He told him. Sherlock looks at him, a small almost shy expression on his angular face. Heat blossomed in the pit of the blondes stomach. Goddammit, not again he thought. Every time Sherlock looks at him like that...every time he smiled at him...shit. Sherlock ran a pale hand through his wind swept curls, and have John another sideways glance. Shit. Sherlock didn't even know they were in front of their flat until John reached out and twisted the tarnished doorknob. Pale gold light spoiled out of the foyer and into the called sidewalk.

"So, what will you bring doing once we get upstairs?" The brunette asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. John's ears went pink.

"You promised you wouldn't mention my blog anymore." He tried. But the taller man only smiled wider.

"I lied." John felt a grin his face.

"You are such a cock!" Sherlock's laugh rumbled through the staircase.

"And yet you keep me around." John jammed his key in the door and began to push it open.

"Only because you pay half the ren-" the words died in the doctor's throat and all the laughter stopped. Because there, standing in the middle of their flat, was a man John had never seen before. John was in awe, not just because of the total stranger standing in front of him, but because of how...handsome he was. Women would swoon in his mere presences, guys would murder him just to keep their girlfriend's from dumping them for a chance to be with him. He was tall...a few inches taller than Sherlock, which was impressive enough as it was. His skin was a lovely even shade of caramel, obviously Hispanic of some nature. He had large green eyes with coal black eyelashes that fanned out like feather dusters. His hair was dark and cut short and his mouth was a sculptor's dream, wide, full, pink and bow shaped. He build was that of someone who worked out regularly, but wasn't a meat head, lean muscles were evident even under his tailored suit. John had never seen such a handsome man before in his life. And for some reason, that pissed him of even more.

And he didn't know who the fuck he was.

"Mate, what...what the he'll are you doing I our flat?" The stranger didn't even seem to hear him.

"Hello? I'm going to give you the seconds to get the fuck out of gets before I call the police-"

"Donnie?" John felt his heart freeze. He turned slowly to look at his flatmate. He couldn't...know this man...could he? But the way he had said his name...

"Sherlock." The man said, his voice almost cracking. John felt like he had entered a parallel universe. They did know each other...what the bloody fucking Hell? Sherlock didn't have friends, and the few he did have, John knew.

Sherlock took an uncertain step forward, his legs seeming to move on their own accord.

He walked up to the man -Donnie-he had called him, and did something that William Sherlock Holmes never did...He hugged him. The stranger wrapped his arms around the detectives thin frame, muscles flexing. Sherlock bathed in the familiar scent of Donnie, expensive cigarettes, Dial soap and sharp aftershave. He felt his eyes involuntarily slip shut, his pale hands gripping the back of his pressed shirt. Distantly, he heard someone clear their throat. John. Sherlock felt a thousand emotions tear at his chest as he released his grip on Donnie and turned to face John's handsome face, that had the strangest expression on it.

"Donnie...this is John, my..." neither of the men missed his hesitation.

"My best friend...John...this is Adonnis...my ex."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock shut his door with a soft click and turned. Adonnis was as gorgeous as ever, his breath use to catch in his throat every time he would see him. The consulting detective walked over to his bed, feeling out of place in his own bedroom. He sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, the springs groaning under his weight.

"I should've called." His ex-lover started, his suave Australian accent knotting his words together. Holmes barked out a laugh.

"Yea, that would've been nice." He said, a hint of bitterness sitting on his words. He had never been so conflicted about his emotions before, mind you he tended to avoid them altogether but still.

"I'm sorry I barged in on you line this...but...aren't you happy to see me?" He asked, not knowing how vulnerable his voice sounded to the other man's ears. Sherlock took in a deep breath, steeling himself before beginning.

"Donnie, why are you here?" He asked desperately, dropping his head into his hands. The bed freaked as the business man say next to him.

"Because I missed you...you left without saying anything...Sherlock...I tried to stay away but you were all over the papers with your new boyfriend-"

"John's not my boyfriend."

"But you want him to be." Donnie said, not missing a beat. Sherlock pushed out an aggravated breath.

"What John and I have is...complicated to say the least...he doesn't even...he's not even-" he trailed off, not knowing exactly how to describe the beautiful mess that was John Watson. Donnie's soft, cinnamon colored hand came up and brushed a stay curl from the detective's forehead. Holmes shivered at the familiar contact.

"If you don't want to get back together, that's fine, I understand that, but at least let me take you out, just once." Sherlock was torn.

"Maybe,"

"I can work with maybe." He said with a smile. Sherlock couldn't help it, he grinned back at him.

What the hell did Sherlock expect him to do? Sit around until him and his old boy-toy were finished "catching up"? This was bloody ridiculous. Sherlock Holmes had a boyfriend. And he had never told him. They were supposed to be best friends! Maybe there was a reason he didn't tell you, a voice in the back of his head nagged at him. Bollocks. He should have told him. Maybe it wasn't serious. But then again, any would he travel all the way from Australia to see him if it wasn't serious? Maybe it had ended badly? I Swear to god of that bloke hurts Sherlock, I will rip his fucking tongue out, the doctor thought savagely.

Whoa, where the bloody hell had that come from? Sherlock was his best friend...and he wanted to protect him...yrs, that was it. And what kind of name was Adonnis anyway? The fuck kind of people name their child that? He spotted his laptop pot of the corner of his eye. He threw a quick glance towards Sherlock's room before darting towards it. He punched in his password with impatient fingers and waited for his browserto load. He unconsciously looked down the hall.

Shit. He didn't have a last name. He shrugged, how many Adonnis' could there be?

Holy fucking shit.

"You have got to be kidding me." The doctor spat quietly. He wanted to bang his head against the wall...repeatedly. The definition of Adonnis was an extremely beautiful man who was loved by Aphrodite...the goddess of love. Fucking shit.

John heard a door open and close. He quickly backed out of his search and pulled up his email. He heard the two men shuffling down the hall and John felt like he had been punched in the gut. They were...laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

10:50

Sherlock was not a pub person. He hated them in fact. And Donnie knew that. So why the hell had he brought him to one? God he was handsome.

"Sherlock, love, do you want anything?" Tbd detective snapped back to attention, the term of endearment rattling him.

"Uhm," the bartender was looking at him questioning.

"Whatever he's having." The man have a nod and wandered off the the wall of liquor. There were rows of clear bottles lined up, all filled with alcohol of different colours. Sherlock turned to Adonnis, feeling nervous and hating himself for it. His ex-lover shifted, obviously uncomfortable as well.

"I-I know you hate pubs but I didn't know of anywhere else to go." He told him. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean, how long have you been here?" He asked. Adonnis glanced at his watch.

"About sixteen hours." Sherlock was shocked.

"You didn't..."

"Come here just to see you? Yes. Yes I did." The bartender returned with their drinks, tall shot glasses filled to the brim with a watery brown liquid. Sherlock was baffled...but then again...He wasn't. Most people couldn't stand him, the only person who ever seemed to enjoy his company was John...and Donnie. He looked at him, into his deep, soulful emerald eyes and saw the kindness and acceptance that made him fall in love with him. But then his thoughts jerked back to John. John, with his clear blue eyes and sandy hair. Who fought in a war that made him shake with nightmares and jump at small noises. Who would run the empty streets of London with him, his laughter bouncing off the desolated buildings. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"That was very...spontaneous of you." He remarked, grabbing his glass with his long fingers.

"You used to like that," he said with a smile. He lifted his drink.

"To Meeting Again," he proclaimed. Sherlock rolled his eyes, it was cheesy as hell, buy it was so Donnie. They clincked glasses and tossed it back. It tasted like bleach and burned like fire. They slammed their glasses down, Sherlock shuttering slightly. Adonnis smiled at him. Jesus Christ he was handsome.

3:45

Where the hell were they?! John paced the flat, empty glass of whiskey in hand. It was three in the fucking morning! What could they possibly be doing? You know what their doing that little voice quipped. Involuntary, he thought of the Aussie's hands threaded through Sherlock's soft curls, their naked bodies pressed together and sweating.

"Christ," he muttered, snatching the liquor bottle off the counter and refilling his glass. He swished the expensive liquor around in his mouth, hating the taste but reveling in the burn. He heard footsteps. Shit! He scrambled into his chair and grabbed an old newspaper. He promptly threw it aside, noting that he looked like a father waiting for his daughter to get back from her first date. Was it obvious that he was waiting up for them? God he hoped not. He would just say...that...Mrs. Hudson late night vacuuming had woken him up. It was as weak excuse as any.

The door to the flat opened and Sherlock stood with his back to him, leaning against the doorframe.

"Can I come in?" Adonnis asked, his voice hopeful. John's fingers tightened around his glass.

"I don't think that would be...wise." You tell him Sherlock, John thought triumphantly.

"Why not?" This bitch had some nerve. Watson immediately flushed, he sounded just like Harry.

"It's just that, it's first time I've seen you in years and John's probably asleep..." He trailed off. You don't owe him an explanation, John thought angrily.

"I understand," fuck his politeness.

"When can I see again?" John's knuckles were white white, he was gripping his glass so hard. Sherlock laughed. Watson's hand began to cramp.

"I don't know, I have work and...don't get me wrong, I really do want to see you, I just have no time-"

"It's okay, here's my number, call me when you get some free time. Anytime works for me. Call me day or night." If he had been paying attention, John would have heard the glass cracking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adonnis take a step closer to Sherlock. His eyebrows narrowed. The Aussie leaned in close to him. The doctor clenched his teeth. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of the detective's mouth. The glass broke, concaving into his hands, shards plummeting into his rough fingers.

"John is that you?" Sherlock called, his voice loud and worried. John grabbed the biggest piece that jutted from his flesh, gripped it, and ripped it out. His mouth opened, a scream ready to pour from him. He stifled it with a quiet groan.

"Uh, yea...I came down for a drink and dropped my glass." He called back, blood and whiskey dripping steadily from his hand.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine...I already have it cleaned up." He cradled his injury to his chest, grabbing the broken bits with his other and hurried to his room.


End file.
